How can I compare thee to a Summer's Day
by RichelieusCats
Summary: Claude Frollo ... an enigma. His motivations, are unclear, does he really love Esmerelda, or is it just internalised lust from remaining celibate. Young Esmerelda, scared witless of this passionate and sometimes volatile priest, is hiding secrets from Frollo. Secrets which could change the way they view each other, and save them both. This is cross referenced on Achieve of our Own.
1. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Rescue

_"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins' 1 Peter, 4:8._

While sitting on the prison floor, La Esmerelda mused that the Archdeacon of Josas' eyes were rather beautiful, they shone a brilliant blue. And seemed to be the only gateway into Claude Frollo's emotions, they might darken with lust or shine a bright cobalt with unshed tears. In fact, the man himself was exceedingly handsome in a compelling way.

However, no matter how much Esmerelda found the older man appealing. He still scared her. The feeling of turmoil brushed through her, Claude Frollo was obsessed with her to the point of madness, his touches burned and scared her. She was 16 years old, he 36. The gap in their ages was one of her reasons for dismissing the man. Furthermore, the only place that she knew and felt safe was the Court of Miracles where her friend Clopin was King, she was also … a gypsy. He was a priest, a Catholic whose Church's teaching on celibacy was restrictive and demanding.

And she still loved her knight in shining armour, her Phoebus … His gold locks glowing like a halo in the Parisian sunlight, his name sounding beautiful on her tongue.

The night before she was to finally meet her maker, the Archdeacon had entered her cell. No one would dare question Claude Frollo's authority, as a man of the church and especially one so powerful in Notre Dame, the guards assumed that he was giving her the last rites, even though she was but a gypsy. His determined but feverish face met hers, in one sudden motion he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her after him, his robes fluttering in the wind. His iron grip did not lessen even though she wanted to pull her hand from his and tell him that she did not need his assistance. But not wanting to appear ungrateful for this hastily executed rescue mission. Esmerelda let herself be pulled outside, the cool air of Paris was refreshing after the putrid air of the prison, and the wails of the other inmates which left her immobile with terror. Quasimodo, ever gentle, Quasimodo had hold of a rather sturdy horse which looked like it could carry two people, realising what was going to happen, that it was more of an abduction rather than a rescue. She tried to struggle against the Archdeacon;

"No. You can't take me away. Not you."

Her struggles were all in vain. The Archdeacon's grasp tightened, almost painful. And motioned to Quasimodo to help Esmerelda up on the horse, she let the other man grab her round the waist, and placed her gently as he could sideways on the saddle, Frollo without assistance from his adopted son swung himself behind her and grappled hold of the reins;

"Thank you, my child. For all that you have done. After you have settled things in Notre Dame, please come to the place in which I spoke of. God bless you Quasimodo.".

The Archdeacon murmured to the younger man. And with that final salutation, the Archdeacon and his charge Esmerelda left into the dark night.


	2. Chapter 2: Close Proximity

_And if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing._

 _St. Paul's 13th Letter to the Corinthians (1-3)._

Esmerelda was encased within the Archdeacon's arms, as his hands moved over the reins in front of her, she could feel his body heart surrounding her through his habit. She wanted to shiver with disgust but found to her amazement that she was hyperaware of every movement he made. Esmerelda felt the rise and fall of his chest, as he breathed in the air, how his hands which were not as she had seen previously in silken gloves but were quite graceful, his long elegant fingers with neatly trimmed fingernails, and the gold ring of office which he habitually wore made her breathless. The smell his cologne, and something that was uniquely Claude Frollo made her vision swim. She shook her head, she was supposed to despise him, what he did to her people and had done to her and Phoebus was irredeemable. She could still remember how he had cornered her in Notre Dame, making her fearful of her life. But, what choice did she have. She had to trust him, he saved her life for whatever nefarious reason that she was not aware of.

All this questioning in her mind led her into an uneasy sleep.

Claude Frollo was contemplating whether he had finally lost his mind, here he was taking a young gypsy girl to his family home. That place had nothing but pain for him and memories he did not wish to revisit, but he could not in all consciousness take her anywhere else. She had fallen asleep within his embrace, her ink black hair shining in the moonlight brushing his nose. She smelt so good, the scent overpowering his senses sending a shiver of lust through his body. Her young lithe body lying limp in his arms.

What on earth was he thinking?

He would have to marry her, assume a new identity to protect them both from the enquiring eyes of those at Notre Dame and society, he would have to work to ensure her safety and which incidentally gave him a purpose to help others and get out of her way. Although he had enough money left in his family strings, his brother Jehan had guzzled most of his Archdeacon's stipend, but his parents were not idiots, and had left Claude the entailment of the family funds.

After this fierce contemplation in his head, Claude had approached a large house quite a way outside of Paris, the approaching dawn shone a luminescent hue on its stone walls, it was the Frollo's mansion. Even though he was a priest, and resigned to a life of moderate poverty, his parents, especially his father had accumulated wealth in being a merchant to the crown. His father's wealth was displayed through the trappings of the mansion, _tourments de l'enfer_ _._ Although he had sent no word out to the staff of his approaching the house, by some sort telepathy the staff had gathered outside of the large mansion. Sending a fervent prayer to God, he looked down at the women in his arms;

"Esmerelda, my dear. We are here."

He gently shook her, watching as her vibrant green eyes looked hazily at him. Suddenly remembering where she was, she tensed, and her lips pouted in mutiny. Far from being put off, especially from the silent treatment he had received throughout there journey. He found her little mutiny adorable. Leading the exhausted horse, to the gates of his family home, his housekeeper that his father had hired when he and his brother were young greeted them;

"It's lovely to see you again Master Claude. And nice to see you _Mademoiselle_."

The housekeeper did not look shocked at the presence of a young sixteen-year-old girl in his arms;

"Thank you, Mrs Benoit.".

He handed Esmerelda down as gently as he could, his muscles in his arm flexing with her weight even though she weighed nothing, the strain holding the reins were taking its toll on him. Jumping down after her, he held the reins to his groom;

"Shall we …"he murmured behind her.

He offered her his arm, but Esmerelda shied away from him, especially when they had been in such proximity. Not wanting to push her but ached so much for her touch. He resigned himself to walking he to the entrance of the house.


	3. Chapter 3: A Prisoner or Guest?

_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs._

 _St. Paul's 13_ _th_ _Letter to the Corinthians (4-8)._

La Esmerelda is uncertain.

The Archdeacon's house is huge. When did he acquire such a property? Why did the man of the church bury himself in books, Latin and incense, but had this acrimonious looking house?

The thoughts heightened her anxiety.

Just everything about him made her uneasy. She was confused about her feelings of attraction towards the mysterious man but the underlying fear of him still consumed her. Once Frollo had her alone in his home… what would happen then? Would he change towards her, break her so she capitulated to be his prisoner inside his home? Or would he want some sort of payment for her release from the depths of the prison.

Walking steadily towards the benign housekeeper … Mrs Benoit she heard the Archdeacon call her. She was plump women, middle – aged with a kindly countenance which made her think of the grandmothers in the gypsy camp. A wash of homesickness filled her, maybe Mrs Benoit would be nice to her. Maybe they could get along. But wouldn't the Archdeacon have control over his staff, what if he commanded them never to talk to her. The thought made her stomach roll unpleasantly, especially the horrifying thought of isolation. Mrs Benoit curtseyed to Esmerelda, as she would the mistress of the house;

"Welcome to tourments de l'enfer, Miss. You must be tired after your long journey." With these words of greeting a small smile graced the older women's lips.

Unfortunately, Esmerelda unused to the formalities of a nobleman's household took a step backward crashing into the Archdeacon's chest. She caught her breath as he steadied her against him and left what she hoped was a reassuring arm on her shoulder. The heat and power radiating from him was immense, and again she was close to panic, she closed her eyes trying to regain some sort of composure and hide the feelings of fright from the older man.

"Thank you, Mrs Benoit. If you please, we would both like to refresh ourselves and some sustenance would be welcome." His menacing baritone cut across her stupidity. Cynically she thought, he led her with a firm grip on her shoulder through the door of the mansion which was to be her new prison.

Esmerelda's fear did not lessen even when they entered the house, Frollo's had had tightened on her shoulder to a painful degree to the point of bruising.

"I will see you in an hour, do not be late.", the Archdeacon whispered in her ear.

He left her with robes swishing around him in the foyer of the grand house, trying to calm the panic that gathered in her chest which coiled menacingly, so she could hardly breathe. She hardly took notice of her surroundings but followed the maid that was sent to assist with helping her.

The maid took her up a flight of stairs that seemed endless combined with the winding maze of corridors which made her feel dizzy. They finally stopped outside a large oak door;

"This is to be your room, Miss."

"T-Thank you." She replied.

"I will help you to dress in something suitable, the Missus left some of her old clothes inside. She was as petite as you."

The maid's chatter made her relax a little, at least the maid was willing to talk to her. Which was something to be recommended amongst the staff, even if she was only a gypsy. Although they probably presumed that she was Frollo's guest not an unwilling prisoner. Esmerelda's mind drew upon one aspect of the maid's chatter, what Missus was the maid talking about, Frollo had never married due to stringent Catholic doctrine. The mystery surrounding the man she was cooped up here with thickened to an opaque black.

Frollo tapped his long fingers impatiently on the wooden table.

She was late.

He hated waiting.

After fifteen minutes had passed, he was set on finding her and dragging her down to the table.

He didn't have to.

His heart rate sped up to an unbearable pace.

His mouth turned as dry as the desert.

She was ... breath taking.

Nothing that he dreamt compared to seeing her in the clothes he possessed along with the house. The scarlet red dress hugged her curves, the bold, lustful colour accented her black hair and cat – like emerald eyes which eyed him warily.

He throbbed in his tight pants.

As she approached the table, a footman held her chair for her. She sat gracefully, even with the incident with the housekeeper outside, the finery seemed to mould her into a gentlewoman. Trying to disguise his reaction to her, he gripped his cutlery in tight fists. And tried to focus his thoughts on the plate in front of him.

For the first time in his life, Claude Frollo had no idea on what to say. What did one say to someone that he had rescued from certain death and then rode miles to his childhood home, which he detested. And had an unbearable lust for. Life did seem unfair sometimes.

His train of thought was interrupted by their supper, which was a lump of bread, a selection of cheese and some Port. Mrs Benoit had also sent up some biscuits and a tea try.

As he placed things on his plate, he glanced up at Esmerelda to see she was not eating;

"Don't stand on ceremony, my dear. Please eat. The food will go to waste.".

She did not seem to hear his attempt of conversation but surprised him with a comment of her own, the first thing he heard her say to him;

"What are you going to do with me?" she said loudly across the table.

He distracted himself by eating a sliver of cheese;

"You must really taste the cheese its…"

"Answer me." She fairly demanded, her eyes glittering with defiance.

"Fine. I will keep you here as recompense for saving your life from the authorities."

That answer did not seem to satisfy the impudent gypsy;

"But what about Phoebus, does he know where I am? He was to make me his mistress. He said I would be safe."

Frollo's eyes flashed dangerously, her little head was still bothered about that infantile, drunk, crude Capitaine. He refused to answer her.

"Please, tell me what happened to Phoebus." She pleaded with him, her beautiful eyes glittering with tears of frustration.

His control snapped.

"ENOUGH." Frollo yelled.

"I do not want to hear anymore about that foolish Capitaine. Who saved you from the authorities? who rescued you at my own cost? And yet you still insist on talking about that dammed, idiot PHOEBUS. I do not want to hear his name in my hearing. Now GET OUT."

The tears that had been threating to fall by mentioning Phoebus, flowed freely down Esmerelda's bronzed cheeks. However, instead of eliciting sympathy, it inflamed Frollo's fury even further. His fist connected loudly with the table, imagining the Capitaine's smug face.

This seemed to be spark some movement in Esmerelda and she flew from the room.

Frollo's last thought before collapsing in a chair, was that ingratiating himself in Esmerelda's affections was going to be more difficult than he thought .


	4. Chapter 4: Purging Sin

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails._

 _St Paul's 13_ _th_ _letter to the Corinthians (4-8)._

That night Esmerelda slept fitfully. She had not stopped running until she reached her bedroom, where she locked herself in and collapsed into a puddle on the bed, without bothering to undress. She knew she should not have aggravated him, his eyes had glinted in warning when she had mentioned Phoebus, but she could not help herself. Phoebus was the only thing that gave her hope of saving her from this farce of a rescue. Maybe if she capitulated to Frollo's wishes, it would save her more heartbreak. She could never love the Archdeacon of Josas. He was too volatile, passionate and controlling.

With this decision made, Esmerelda made her way out of her bedroom. Although it was after midnight, she had not yet explored Frollo's mansion. Following her feet, she walked through the maze of passage ways. Her bare feet pattering across the creaking floor boards. Soon she reached a door, which had light seeping through the cracks. Curiosity overtook cautiousness and she pushed it experimentally, when it offered no resistance, Esmerelda stepped in.

The room she had found was very dark, although there was a single light which exuded unnerving brightness over, a life size crucifix, this showed in startling poignancy Christ's bloodied face. As she stepped further into the room, she spotted something on the ground. Bending down so Esmerelda could make it out with the dimness of the candle. It was some sort of whip with long strips forming outwards, it had beads and other bits of metal that looked as if it could draw blood.

It was a Cat O' Nine Tails.

What would the Archdeacon want with that?

And why was it on the floor?

Suddenly Esmerelda realised what the room was, her breath caught, and she felt extremely sick. The Gypsy's had whispered in the camp what Catholic priests did for discipline, Esmerelda a naïve sixteen-year-old had not taken the rumours seriously. It was called self – flagellation, it was used as a discipline against the human senses, furthermore, it was a remembrance of Christ suffering before his crucifixion. He couldn't possibly have used it on himself. Surely, she would have heard. But why did she care? What was it to her, if Frollo took it upon himself to purge his body. Surely, he deserved it. But why was her heart protesting?

Esmerelda lifted the candle from its place on the floor and noticed that the streaks of the tails were covered in what could only be blood.

Her heart beat faster.

Snatching the candle from the ground, she ran towards the door nearest to her. Yanking the door open. She found a man she did not recognise, and Frollo's housekeeper Mrs Benoit who were both standing next to each other conversing in hushed tones. The mummers stopped when they saw Esmerelda's face;

"Oh Miss, I thought you would have been sleeping." Mrs Benoit exclaimed.

"I couldn't sleep. Could you tell me where the Archdeacon is?" Esmerelda said breathlessly.

"He is indisposed at the moment." Mrs Benoit replied cautiously.

"But I saw …"

The strange man suddenly coughed, she could only presume that he was the doctor, as he picked up his briefcase and left the room. Suddenly, Mrs Benoit stepped towards the young girl and took her shaking hands in her own;

"Master Claude can be badly misjudged. I've known him since he was a little boy, he does have a gentle nature. But this house haunts him and none of us want to revisit the past." The housekeeper paused, wondering if she had overstepped her boundaries. However, she continued;"Miss, if you wish to still see him. I will let you. It might do him good to know that you are there."

After Mrs Benoit speech, Esmerelda still nodded her assent to the older lady's question. She knew that sleep would be impossible after seeing that dark room. The housekeeper motioned to the door that doctor had took his leave from and released the young girls hands.

Gulping nervously, Esmerelda took a bold step forward.


	5. Chapter 5: Confliction

_Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one in love. Honour one another above yourselves._

 _St. Paul's 12_ _th_ _Letter to the Romans (9-10)_

The room in which Mrs Benoit pointed to, was better lit than the darkened chapel where Esmerelda had found the Cat O' Nine Tails.

It was a modest sized room, presumably bigger than the Archdeacon's cell at Notre Dame. As she stepped in further, she saw the doctor leaning over someone on a large canopied bed.

Esmerelda balled her hands into fists in horror.

Claude Frollo's back was a mess.

The blood had soaked through his shirt which had to be carefully peeled off, the lines that were made by the whip were horrendous, the blood had oozed profusely covering the Archdeacon's back in a scarlet hue.

The doctor who she turned to examine, was a middle – aged, balding man whose brow was furrowed in concentration and worry. Noticing her and Mrs Benoit's entrance he proceeded to give his medical opinion;

"The wounds are very deep, I'm afraid. The instrument that has been used, has cut through layers of his skin, if this was the first time he had done so, it would not be so serious. Unfortunately, his old wounds have not healed properly, and he has reopened the layer of delicate tissue."

While this was being delivered, Mrs Benoit stood closer to Esmerelda and touched her shoulder. The girl was in extreme shock, her hands were shaking and her complexion was deathly pale;

"It's my fault." Esmerelda whispered.

"Oh no, dear. It is not." Mrs Benoit tried to console her.

"But if I hadn't argued with him …" Esmerelda broke off, realising with shock that her throat was restrictive and dry.

The doctor cleared his throat and the two women turned to look at him;

"All that can be done is that we wipe his wounds with hot water, I will leave some ointment on the side and bandages which will have to be applied when the wounds have healed slightly. I must leave you now, I have another appointment this night." The doctor made a bow towards Esmerelda and left the room.

"I will go and get the hot water, dear. Will you be alright here for a minute?"

"I'll be fine." Esmerelda attempted to smile.

When the kindly housekeeper had left, Esmerelda's suppressed tears fell down her cheeks for the second time that day. She had no idea what she was crying for, was is it for the broken Archdeacon whose wounds seemed to sear into her soul. Or for Phoebus and the longing for his presence. Esmerelda gingerly sat on the bed furthest away from Frollo, still anxious about her presence in his bedroom.

The young girl took the time to examine her captor's features, although she thought of his eyes as rather beautiful she had not studied the rest of him closely, preferring the cavalier Capitaine to a serious scholar. The Archdeacon had tawny hair that shaped his head like a halo, there was a bald spot which was always shaved for priests in the Catholic church. The Archdeacon had an aquiline almost aristocratic nose. Her eyes greedily, examined his lips. They were a beautiful cupid's bow, with an indent on the top lip. They looked soft, almost kissable …

Suddenly Mrs Benoit had returned with the hot water and she sprang off the bed as if burned by an invisible iron. She should not be thinking of the Archdeacon in that fashion, she should hate him. But it was getting more difficult, the more time she spent in his company;

"Here we are." The elderly housekeeper exclaimed.

A basin of scalding hot water was set down on a stand next to the bed with a wash cloth;

"May I do it?" Esmerelda blurted to the housekeeper.

Mrs Benoit looked shocked at the young girl, "If you are sure, dear. I do not mind taking care of him now, and you can go back to bed."

"Oh no. I would not be able to sleep knowing what happened this night. Just direct me on what to do."

"Of course." Mrs Benoit smiled knowingly.

She motioned for Esmerelda to dip the washcloth in the hot water, which had cooled slightly from the crisp air. Frollo was lying on his front, facing away from them so they had access to his back, the sheets had been stripped off him so they could work fully with cleaning the wounds. The young gypsy swallowed, and began to gently wipe the blood away. Suddenly she heard a whimper from the man in front of her and she stopped, fearing to cause him more discomfort;

"It's alright dear, carry on." Mrs Benoit encouraged; "He is too weak to move. He has lost a lot of blood."

Reassured by the housekeeper's gentle words of reassurance, Esmerelda tackled Frollo's back, gently she wiped the blood from the wounds. Only stopping to rinse the cloth, the water had darkened to a gruesome scarlet, but Esmerelda kept rubbing the inflamed skin. Soon the wounds were visible, although very red they were not surrounded by blood. Reaching to the stand, she held the ointment in her hands. There was nothing for it now she had to touch his skin. The ointment had to be rubbed in, and the cloth was too dirty to be used.

Dipping her fingers in the liquid, she gently traced the inflammation on the wounds to help the healing process. His skin, she found was so warm and soft. The Archdeacon's breathing began to be less erratic and seemed to calm, underneath her fingers so she could feel the calming breaths he took.

She had a persistent urge of kissing the wounds on his back.

Repulsed by that irrational thought and trying to conjure an image of Phoebus in her mind. Esmerelda hurriedly finished and placed the ointment back on the washstand.

"All done." Mrs Benoit said with a smile, "Come with me dear, you need a rest. I'll make you a cup of tea."

Before they turned to leave, a soft sleepy baritone voice sounded from the bed;

"E…Esmerel…da."


	6. Chapter 6: Tentative

__Let no debt remain outstanding, expect the continuing debt to one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law.__

 _ _St Paul's 13__ _ _th__ _ _Letter to the Romans (13:8).__

Mrs Benoit had sent Esmerelda off to bed after the incident last night, but the young girl had returned to the servant's quarters in the morning not wanting to eat breakfast on her own. She still looked tired but seemed more refreshed than the previous night.

Looking at the girl's attire, Mrs Benoit thought that the young girl deserved a decent wardrobe, she could not remain in the Missus things for very long.

As soon as the staff were assembled, breakfast was brought out. The cacophony of dishes clanging, and food being plated hastily was interrupted, by a young maid called Bebe;

"Mrs Benoit, the Master has regained consciousness. He is asking for the young Miss."

Everyone turned towards Esmerelda, whose countenance turned deathly pale.

Why?

Why did he send for her?

What more did they have to say to each other?

Esmerelda's thoughts were in turmoil, immediately Mrs Benoit said;

"I think you had better go up dear, I will bring breakfast for you both."

The younger girl's feet felt like lead, her hands trembling in fear. Was he still angry with her? it was all her fault that he had ended up like that in the first place.

The maid Bebe had accompanied her to the master's door and with a reassuring smile left her. Esmerelda knocked gently on the wooden pane, after what seemed like an eternity the door opened, one of Frollo's manservants bade her to come in.

Frollo was still in bed, they had somehow managed to sit him up. Although his back was not recovered enough for bandages, a soft piece of cloth was wrapped around him. His paleness had dissipated, however, he still looked weak from the loss of blood;

"Please, sit. You may leave us, Pierre." The Archdeacon said, his baritone voice croaking slightly with a dry throat.

Esmerelda obediently sat on the chair which was placed next to the bed. She tried to keep away from looking at the man in the bed, trying to forget the way his skin felt under her fingers or his voice calling her name. Her reverie was interrupted by Frollo;

"I believe I owe you an apology…" he started.

"Oh no, please. The fault was all mine. I'm sorry. Don't be angry with me. I'll try not to vex you. I'll do anything to please you."

Realising what she had just said, Esmerelda had the grace to blush. Anything covered a whole multitude of things …

Frollo's back hurt like the devil, it ached and blistered. He knew that practicing the discipline encouraged risks, but this had to be the worst one yet. He had been disgusted with himself, for acting like a jealous child. But Esmerelda provoked that reaction within him, and here she was. The tables completely turned around.

Anything?

He would not take advantage of her. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will.

Frollo was aware of her hand which lay on the bed, a spike of longing passed through him, wishing he could kiss all her fingers. She was clenching her hands nervously at his sheets. Frollo was by no means the very devil, but his actions did not inspire to be a paragon of sainthood. Claude could not resist in gaining something from her.

His hand touched hers on the bed , too shocked to react towards him. He took advantage of her surprise and gently traced her small palm with his thumb, his hands were bigger than hers although he had calluses on them from writing, he interlaced their fingers showing the disparity of the size and grinning like a child. Risking a glance at the young girl, she was biting her lip trying to supress a small smile. Very daringly, which Frollo later blamed on the endorphins still enveloping his body. He raised the palm of her hand to his lips, her palm smelling of lavender soap and something distinctly of Esmerelda, his lips relished the chance to touch another's skin.

His heart beat incredibly fast.

Claude greedily took advantage of her stupefied state ignoring his earlier promise to himself. His lips travelled to her wrist, eliciting a small giggle. Smiling inwardly, that he had knocked her aloof composure. He was soon interrupted by this tentative exploration by his housekeeper. Groaning inwardly, he let go of Esmerelda's hand as if he had been burnt. Coming in with a tray of food, Esmerelda had taken the opportunity of his distraction by bolting out of the door.

He hit his head against his pillow in a mixture of arousal and frustration.

What on earth was she thinking?

She let Claude Frollo, the Archdeacon of Josas kiss her hand.

She could still feel his lips burning against her skin. He had looked so approachable when he smiled as he interlaced their fingers.

Esmerelda thought that confusion had become a necessary emotion where the older man was concerned. She did now know how to feel, he was so difficult to read.

Although she had tried to look at the house that night, circumstances made it sure that she did not explore everywhere. Frollo's mansion had two wings, the East wings had the bedrooms in and that room which she had seen the first night, there was also Frollo's personal library. Going down the stairs, there was a central staircase which led to the ground floor. There were the servants quarters, and a drawing room.

Esmerelda started to go in the direction of Frollo's library, she knew Mrs Benoit would keep Frollo in bed for a few days. Which meant she could regain her equilibrium.


	7. Chapter 7: Just a Child

_A friend loves at all times -Proverbs 17:17._

She was avoiding him.

He had not seen her for the best part of the week.

And he was losing patience.

He had tried to tell Mrs Benoit not to fuss. That it was his back that was damaged not his legs.

However, she insisted that he listen to her and that he should stay in bed until they could bandage his wounds.

When she finally let him get up from the bed, the day had passed. He asked Mrs Benoit where Esmerelda would be, but his housekeeper did not seem to know where she was. Intrigued by this sudden disappearance and frustrated that he had been bed-ridden for so long without a visit from her, he went in search of his library. There he could be himself, without having to worry his head in trying to talk to a sixteen-year-old girl, whose focus was still on the foolish capitaine. He had donned on a pair of breeches and shirt which had a v – neck at the front. And made his way, barefoot into the corridor, opening one of the doors…

She was there …

In his library, his sanctuary. He guessed he should feel annoyed but, Claude felt anything but that. Instead, he was relieved. She was sat on the floor, a plate of biscuits and tea, that he had supposed Mrs Benoit or one of the maids had brought in for her. Her hair was illuminated by the fire in the hearth, the sleek blackness framing her face, her face contorted into a puzzled expression, as if she did not understand what she was reading.

He cleared his throat.

Esmerelda's eyes shot up and she scrambled up, in fear. This was his library, and she was trespassing. The tome lay forgotten on the floor;

"Oh Claude, I did not see you there." Esmerelda squeaked.

His eyes shone in merriment.

'Claude'

She had used his given name.

It must have been a slip of the tongue, he had only been known as Father, or Master. Never just Claude.

This slip of a girl seemed to make him burn with fully fledged desire.

"I am sorry I startled you, may I join you."

She had just called him Claude …

To his face.

Esmerelda felt sick.

And now he wanted to join her, as if nothing had happened between them in his bedroom.

She could do nothing but nod, it was his library and his house. She was a prisoner, he could do what he wanted with her, without a thought to any consequences.

She could die here, and no-one would ever know where she was.

She pulled out of those morbid thoughts, they would not help her escape.

He sat down, gingerly in front of her. She could smell newly washed clothes and his cologne.

"What are you attempting to read, which makes you look so puzzled."

Esmerelda swallowed;

"Aristotle's _Nichomachean Ethics_."

She glanced at the man, he chuckled slightly then let out a full laugh that rang through the room;

"You could not have picked a more difficult material to read. Even I was completely bored while studying it, and your reading it for pleasure."

Esmerelda was transfixed, it was such a beautiful laugh that he had. Deep and throaty, however, rusty through lack of use as if he had not laughed in a long time;

"I can't read, I just picked it up to look at the words." Esmerelda stated, looking away in shame.

His laughter died;

"You cannot read at all."

Esmerelda shook her head, "There seemed little point when we gypsies moved from place to place. There was not any time to actually learn."

He looked pensive into the fire. She took her time to examine him, he looked better than he had done when she had seen to his wounds. Mrs Benoit had pestered her to go and see him, but she felt shy and nervous. She did not like him, and therefore she reasoned could not love him. The V shape of his shirt showed the wisps of tawny hair accented with grey. Instead of being put off, she found herself entranced by it;

"Would you like to learn? I could teach you how to read French. Even though you speak it well." He said in all seriousness.

"Would you? Could you? Are you sure it would not be a bother?." She exclaimed in childish excitement.

He shook his head in the negative;

"It would be a pleasure, at Notre Dame I taught many of the students at the seminary. Some could not read French, it would be a challenge. As I can no longer return as a priest to Paris." He answered quietly.

He was in exile, she had known that. Although she still thought of him as the Archdeacon of Josas, he had lost the right to that title when he had spirited her away to safety after she had been accused of trying to kill Phoebus.

He had suffered a lot for her sake, and all she had done was moan and complain about Phoebus. But this man, who claimed that he loved her had rescued her from certain death with the help of his adopted son was sheltering her from the authorities at the risk of his own safety from the King and the law;

"I'm afraid I have been ungrateful." His eyes snapped to hers, "You have rescued me at the cost of your livelihood and principles. I thank you for that."

A moment of silence followed this exclamation;

"You are my redemption. I must repair the damage that I have inflicted on you and Phoebus." His eyes burnt into hers.

She needed to touch him. Just to feel safe again.

His eyes watched her hand as she placed it into his palm, his fingers held hers rubbing his thumb over the flesh of her hand, like he had after he had scourged himself. She scooted closer until there was little distance between them.

His face was inscrutable.

She placed herself in his lap, feeling the heat radiating off him. Her arms twining round his neck.

This was not a lover's embrace.

It was an unspoken apology.

A feeling of wanting to be held.

She had never been held apart from when she was younger.

She buried her head in his neck seeking out warmth, even though the fire was blazing brightly.

Esmerelda had expected the Archdeacon to throw her off, he had stiffened underneath her as if unsure how he should react when she had clambered on him. She could feel him breathing against her, the slow puffs of air floating in her hair. Suddenly he wrapped his arms about her frame, anchoring her.

She felt like a child, and that's what she was. She was sixteen. Barely blossoming into adulthood, a lot had happened to her. She was ripped from all she knew in Paris, made to live with a man she barely knew, who admittedly had damaged her chances of happiness with the man she loved.

Yet…

And yet …

She could feel his fingers twining in her hair, as one of her hands came up to cusp the V neck of his shirt, her fingers found the curious wisps of hair that had fascinated her. They were soft underneath her fingertips. She could feel him drawing in a quick breath and his arms tightening around her;

"Would you mind, my dear. Pouring me out a cup of that tea. Mrs Benoit would have my head, if she knew I was not drinking something that she had left out."

He must get her off him.

It was getting intolerable, the small weight of her on his frame.

He knew everything had caught up with her, and he was determined that he would concern himself with her welfare. And do everything he could to help her. Even though she might never love him.

Love.

He had given up on that long ago.

Ever since …

But that was a long time, one's past did not dictate one's future.

And to not have Esmerelda's love within his grasp. Was painful.


	8. Chapter 8: Freedom Denied

_Many claim to have unfailing love, but a faithful person who can find? The righteous people lead blameless lives; blessed are their children after them._

 _Proverbs 20:6-7._

They were sitting down to breakfast.

When the news came.

Frollo and Esmerelda were sat down, breakfast had been served. A footman came in with a silver tray, on it were letters that had come to _tourments de l'enfer._

As Frollo broke the seals on his correspondence, Esmerelda waited with bated breath.

There was a clatter, as the letter fell from Frollo's hands;

"What is it? What's the matter?"

Without replying, Frollo gave her the letter.

 _Dear Father;_

 _I hope this letter finds you and Esmerelda well. It has been a few weeks since we both rescued Esmerelda from the clutches of the authorities. After you had left, the Church believes you have done the right thing, in relation to taking you and Esmerelda away after that incident with Phoebus. However, they have exiled you from the church although you are still welcome to visit Notre Dame. There will be no repercussions if you decide to return to Paris._

 _In other news, there will be an invitation to the marriage of Captain Phoebus to Fleur – des – Lys. I'm afraid this was declared after you had left Paris._

 _Hope to see you at the wedding. I remain your ever-faithful son;_

 _Quasimodo._

 _P.S. Please give Esmerelda my love._

Esmerelda looked stricken, her ticket out of the company of Claude Frollo was destroyed. She could not write to Clopin, she had no idea if they had left Paris and the Court of Miracles.

This was checkmate.

She was stuck with him.

Of course, she would have to go to the wedding, it would be curious if they did not show up.

Esmerelda looked at Claude, he had opened the seal of the wedding invitation. His eyes flaring with anger. She would be subject to humiliation if she did not come back as his wife.

"I have an idea, ma petite." He said quietly. "We would be missed from the wedding if we did not go. I will introduce you as my wife, although, this is not true. I will take you to get some appropriate clothes, A nice dress and some shoes will do. I know this will be painful for you, but, you must not show any emotion towards the Capitaine or his bride. Just be civil and we shall be on our way immediately."

This was not good.

In Frollo's opinion, this was extreme folly.

It was like Daniel and the Lion's den, all over again.

He could not save her from embarrassment or humiliation. But he could, by God, lessen it.

She looked as if her world had come crumbling down.

And in some ways, it had.

Phoebus was her first love and that can never be taken away from someone. He would never be as handsome as Phoebus, but he would be content to be her friend.

She would need one;

"Esmerelda…" she did not answer him.

"Ma Petite." He tried again.

She glanced at him, with her eyes full of unshed tears. This made him utterly helpless, he never knew how to handle women's tears, even his own mother. He touched her hand, but she flinched away.

He felt like he was back at square one. She did not trust him. Why should she? He had pursued her relentlessly, he was in the wrong. She was not witch or anything of the kind, she was a scared child. And he had a duty to help her, even though he burned for her.

"Please, Esmerelda. We need to go immediately. The wedding is in two days. And, I need to get us both something to wear.".

Mrs Benoit had heard that the Master was leaving for Paris and she hailed him when he was commanding his servant to pack up his things;

"Master Claude, you are leaving."

"I am afraid so Mrs Benoit."

"But where will you stay in Paris? You will no longer be welcomed in Notre Dame."

He flinched, when she mentioned that.

"My Father had a town house in Paris. We shall go there."

"But please, sir. Let me go with you. I can look after the girl, poor dear. She looks terrible."

"She has had a bit of a shock, Mrs Benoit. But if you are sure that is what you want, I know Esmerelda would be glad of the company, she has no ladies maid."

"No ladies maid, Master Claude. We are not barbarians. What were you thinking?" She scolded.

Claude Frollo just sighed.

They were ready in a few hours.

A cart had been brought round, Esmerelda and Frollo sat in the back whilst the driver and Mrs Benoit sat up at the top.

She stared blankly at the scenery, none of had its appeal. The trees had lacked lustre, the sky was dull.

She was depressed.

But she could not fault Claude Frollo.

He did not gloat as she had expected.

Maybe it would have been easier to hate him if he had.

But he was very considerate and had not pressed a conversation with her.

She would be his wife.

His wife.

She always thought she would be Phoebus'. But he expected nothing but being a dutiful mistress to him.

It was not repugnant. The thought of it. Claude Frollo's wife, Esmerelda Frollo.

She felt horribly close to tears. Again.

The journey did not take that long, _tourments de l'enfer_ was on the outskirts of Paris, therefore the city was only a couple of hours away.

The city of Paris was on the horizon, carts with people were on the streets. People milling about, selling their wares. This was Paris her … home? Why did she hesitate at the thought?

They had arrived at a town house, that she had never seen before. It looked like it had been emptied for a while. The driver stopped at the front door, Esmerelda jumped down from the cart ignoring Frollo's assistance.

Entering the house, Mrs Benoit set about looking around. Unfortunately, they discovered that there was only one main bed in the main bedroom, all the others needed dusting and a good clean.

Mrs Benoit was a formidable women and there was no way she was letting either her Master or the young lady sleep in uncleaned rooms.

Which meant, they had to sleep together.

Could a day get any worse?


	9. Chapter 9: One Temptation too Far

_And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._

 _St. Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians (13:13)._

Esmerelda wanted to weep.

Sharing a bed with Claude Frollo.

This could only end in tears.

Esmerelda was in Archdeacon's library, trying in vain to delay the inevitable.

When she finally went upstairs, Claude was already in bed. She could hear his breathing, over the distinct sound of the wind, whistling a dissonant tune.

When Esmerelda looked around she saw that it was only a small feather bed, with dark curtains surrounding it. However, she was only dressed in a shift, so she could feel the breeze that coming in through the window. Shivering, she slid under the covers.

The bed was warm, with Claude's body heat. Inescapably due to the size of the bed, their feet touched, the heat warming her chilled skin. She settled into the arms of Morpheus, exhausted with the worries of confronting Phoebus.

Esmerelda woke up in the middle of the night, trying to catch her breath after a horrific nightmare, her bed mate had turned over in his sleep to face her.

Wanting to feel the safety of someone, even an unconscious man that she was determined to hate. Esmerelda slid closer to him, so her hand was resting on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat and the musky smell of incense, filling her nostrils. In their proximity, her legs shifted until they intertwined with his. She felt more relaxed, instead of the anxiousness that seemed always present; especially since Esmerelda would see the man she pined for getting married to someone else. And this man was helping her overcome the humiliation that she would surely gain from walking into Notre Dame without Claude as her husband.

His arms encircled her, the burning heat of his hands holding her in place. He sighed in contentment and a small smile graced his lips as she burrowed closer into his neck.

Maybe it wasn't a bad thing, pretending to be married to Claude Frollo.

Claude felt warm.

Unnaturally warm.

And he was …

A blush graced his cheeks, he had never had such a thing before he met Esmerelda.

Somehow in the night, the young girl had crept closer to him and they were pressed against each other in a most indecent manner. She was practically lying on top of him, her hands were resting on his chest and legs were round his. He could feel where her shift had ridden up, so her bare flesh of her leg was lay hotly against his skin like a red-hot iron.

He was overwhelmed.

Nothing had felt so perfect, but so utterly wrong.

He could not handle her closeness.

No-one had ever been in such close proximity with him, not even Quasimodo. A shiver of longing rippled through him, and in an urge to satisfy it he hesitantly touched her hair. That long mane, which had captivated his interest on the first day he saw her, the inky black shimmering in the sunlight. Brushing it from her face, he savoured the skin of her bronzed cheek, silky against his calloused hand.

He adamantly refused to take advantage of her closeness. No matter, how much he wished that she came to him of her own free will.

Gently he rose, freeing her hands from his chest

But not without stealing a kiss on one of her precious hands.

Mrs Benoit had taken Esmerelda onto the Parisian streets, at her master's order.

The girl must have some decent clothes for the wedding on the morrow, and nothing of the Missus would suit such an occasion.

They had gone into one of the best reputed dressmaker's shops in Paris. Although expensive, Esmerelda would have to wear something that would dignify her amongst the fickle nobility.

Madame La Vane was one such modiste. And was delighted in Esmerelda's figure, exclaiming excitedly in French;

"Would Madame Frollo, begin in picking a colour."

Mrs Benoit noticed the young Miss go pale at the sound of her new name, motherly instinct took over, and the older women led her over to the bolts of material that were placed on the wall;

"I think you would suit any shade, dear. But what do you suppose, about green. I think they would match your pretty eyes."

Calmed by the housekeeper's presence, Esmerelda picked out a vibrant shade of Emerald. Which Madame La Vane, gushed over and began fitting with tape measures. The dress would be plain, with three quarter length sleeves which would be made with lace. The cut above her bosom would be modest, but reveal some cleavage and the style would be made so Esmerelda would be able to dance;

"Oh Madame, will look beautiful for the Captain's wedding. His betrothed has already been in to see me, and I have fitted her out in an exquisite wedding dress. Ah Madame Fleur is exceptionally beautiful. Her and the Captain of the guard make an exceptionally handsome couple."

"Indeed." Esmerelda said quietly;

"But Madame, you have the Archdeacon of Josas. He was quite a catch although a man of the cloth. Everyone in Paris knew that he was taken with you. La, the city was so abuzz when we knew that you had run off together. So romantic." Madam La Vane sighed,"But no matter. He married you even with your social standing." the modiste muttered as an afterthought.

The modiste paused and then whispered to Esmerelda;

"Just between us girls, what did you think of him in bed?. He has remained celibate all his life, was he ... clumsy?." La Vane winked.

Esmerelda blushed furiously, thankfully Mrs Benoit saved her from answering;

"We must be going now, Madame La Vane. Please send the dress tomorrow where you will be paid in full for your services."

And with that, Mrs Benoit herded Esmerelda out of the shop.

"She said WHAT?" Claude fairly yelled;

"Just as I said sir." His housekeeper said calmly.

He put his hands on his face, feeling mortified for his dear Esmerelda. The young girl had to be insulted and degraded even before they had actually arrived at Notre Dame;

"Sir, you will also have to show her how to dance La Volta. It is a common dance at weddings especially among the guests."

This suggestion made Claude nearly heave;

"Not, La Volta. You know how intimate that dance is, Mrs Benoit."

"I know, sir. But you would not wish for her to be humiliated. Your going to have explain all of that to her. She will not know what to do the poor dear. It is harder for women to be respected among French society then men. This will be a test, in how she handles the public."

"You are right. Mrs Benoit, will you find Esmerelda and ask her to meet me in the ballroom. Immediately. And then leave us."

"As you wish, Master Claude."

Esmerelda entered the ballroom to find Claude already waiting for her, she looked puzzled and shy;

"What are we doing here?"

"To show you how to dance, my dear."

"But why?"

"You will be on show, as my wife. We need to make sure that no-one doubts that we are a couple. I do not wish for you to be humiliated, you will have to get used to being in such close quarters with me. And we have only this evening to make sure that you can dance acceptably."

Esmerelda blanched during the older man's speech;

"You will have to address me as Claude. Esmerelda." He said looking resigned that this was not going to be easy to get her to dance. "The dance you will learn is called La Volta, which is quite an intimate dance and very popular at a wedding."

"Place your hand on my shoulder. We will make small steps, and then I will lift you be your waist in a jump."

He moved a few steps to the left and she followed. It did not surprise him, that she was a natural. Very gently he lifted her in the air, Esmerelda's face lit into a smile, beaming down at him in childish amusement. Which made his heart stutter. Her shyness disappeared as she danced around the floor with him. There was one last lift and she was held aloft in the air, her hands holding onto his shoulders, as he stared up at her. His beautiful blue eyes, sparkling in joy.

Esmerelda could not for the life of her, think why she did it.

After he had placed her down on the floor, she lifted herself on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

It was as if time no longer existed.

He did not react to her.

It was as if the kiss had shocked him into stillness.

Esmerelda could feel the sensation of his soft lips on hers. The air seemed to crackle around them with pent up sexual tension as her hands circled round him, dragging him closer. Their lips clung together in a timeless dance, as she tried to coax him to deepen the kiss, by dragging her tongue across his bottom lip.

With a whimper, Claude allowed her. He seemed to shake with pent up emotion as their tongues gently touched and coiled in a wonderful sensation, she felt the intense warmth of his mouth on hers. Her hands sank into his hair, trying to anchor herself with the overwhelming emotions bursting across them like a ship rocks in the sea.

The younger girl never thought she would have to be the initiator in any intimacy with Claude. He had always done the pursuing, and her the running. But this was different.

Frollo's control suddenly snapped, and they were against the ballroom wall, Esmerelda found herself being on the receiving end of a passionate onslaught, Claude's feverish mouth trailed to her neck, and then found a sensitive spot on her ear. She held tightly onto him, her legs wrapping against his hips. Feeling, wanting ...

"C…Claude. P...P...Please" Esmerelda moaned.

Suddenly, the older man wrenched himself away, his pants echoed harshly across the large expanse of the ballroom. Esmerelda was dismayed to see tears, dripping from his eyes, where once they were shining with joy. Bewildered by what she had seen as intense pain, she tried to reach out to him;

"N...No... No..." he sobbed, backing away from her.

His footsteps treaded heavily across the floor, and she knew that every footfall symbolised rejection.


	10. Chapter 10: Revenge

_Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace._

 _St. Paul's letter to the Ephesians (2-3)._

He was disgusting.

Claude broke into a run, trying to escape the voices that were following him. He was shaking, his mouth dry, and stomach churning. He had locked himself in his father's library.

Vile, depraved, pervert.

Claude had no illusions about himself, he was not a handsome man. Not in comparison to Phoebus, but to have Esmerelda's affection even as little as a kiss. He trembled at the word. And to think that it might be from pity, for a man that was twenty years older than her.

The churning in his stomach, reached in unbearable pitch.

Claude wanted to scream in despair. Instead he staggered over to his writing desk, his hands found the familiar comfort of his letter knife. Throwing his shirt over his head, he examined his arms, they were lined with disgusting lines and scars of past hurts. Combined with his scourged back, he was a damaged, wreck of a man.

Weak, pitiful.

Before he could think about what he was doing he drew his knife across his skin, he could feel the burning sensation across his skin, the pools of blood dropping from the wound.

Claude could feel his father's penetrating words, making his head spin.

 _"_ _You are no son of mine."_

 _"_ _The devil's spawn."_

Hyperventilating he tried to calm himself by picturing Esmerelda dancing with him, their movement fluid and romantic, her eyes gazing with longing into his. This made his episode, even worse and he lashed out with his knife, drawing even more blood across his arms, and succumbed to the floor in defeat.

What on earth was that all about?

Esmerelda had shouted to him, when he bolted out of the door. Her voice cracking on his name in bewilderment, he was so mysterious. Esmerelda was getting fed up.

Had her inexperience disgusted him, did Frollo's pretentions of love, veil his real intentions of lust. Did he prefer the attention of an experienced courtesan, to an unseasoned, young girl.

Esmerelda had finally got her legs to move, she was torn between running as far away from this farce of a fake marriage, or confronting Claude and his intentions.

However, her dilemma was interrupted by Mrs Benoit, calling her.

"Oh, my dear. Have you see the Master?"

"Yes, he left in rather a hurry."

Mrs Benoit sighed;

"Never mind, dear. He will probably be in his library at this time. You'd best go to bed. You will need your rest for the wedding."

The older lady, pressed a comforting hand on Esmerelda's cheek and then hurried away.

Esmerelda went to bed her mind filled with insecurities, and Claude's nefarious or maybe innocent motivations.

But she knew that something, wasn't right.

The dress arrived without delay, and Mrs Benoit helped Esmerelda get ready;

"Oh love, you do look a picture. He will be so pleased."

"You don't think it's too much, Mrs Benoit."

"Absolutely not. Women at the wedding will be wearing far less. I can assure you. He's waiting downstairs. The master was in his library all night. Poor dear. Try not to antagonise him today. The master looks as if he hasn't slept."

Nerves rippled through the young girl's stomach, was she really ready to face Claude. Her felt as if they weighed a ton, as she descended the central staircase. Claude was waiting at the bottom, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor, it's harsh echo's reminding her of the disastrous kiss, last night. He looked like Mrs Benoit had said, his face was pale and gaunt, his eyes unsteady with dark shadows underneath as if he had not slept.

"Claude is everything alright." She said, her throat constricting with shock.

"I'm fine, shall we go. We will be late." he waved her concern away with abrupt dismissal.

He held out his arm, which she took cautiously. But couldn't help relishing the heat emanating from his doublet. His hand held hers that was on his arm;

"You look beautiful, ma petite." He whispered in her ear.

Esmerelda breath caught, and blushed prettily. However, it did not stop her from seeking reassurance;

"You think so"

Claude just smiled wanly.

The carriage reached Notre Dame Cathedral. Getting down, Esmerelda noticed that people going into the cathedral was staring and muttering at them as they approached, Esmerelda's grip on Claude grew tighter.

"Do not worry, you are perfectly safe with me" Claude tried to reassure her.

Esmerelda had realised that Claude was still wearing his skull cap, which he only uncovered when he entered Notre Dame, and with a pang she realised that the priesthood was really all that he had ever known, the vocation that had been safe in, even happy in.

Notre Dame Cathedral was beautiful, it's stone walls seemed to gleam in the morning sun. It's rose tinted stained glass, shimmered a light path on the ground. She heard a sob from Claude, and Esmerelda tried to not feel a pang of sympathy. It was never easy to go to one's home, especially when someone had been ripped from the ancient and safe walls of Notre Dame as traumatic and needlessly as Frollo.

As they sat in the pews, Esmerelda caught a glimpse of shining gold armour and spotted Phoebus at the front. He was gleaming like a vengeful saint, with his blonde hair shimmering like a halo, the plane of his face was examining the congregation in a mixture of disguised disgust and confidence.

She did find Phoebus very attractive but rather more in an aesthetic way.

She had thought when all this had happened with Claude, that it was the worst thing that had happened to her. But it had opened her eyes, Claude had risked everything especially his livelihood to save her. Phoebus had only been interested in Esmerelda's looks and her virtual inexperience.

Everyone stood up for the bride, Fleur was indeed as Madame La Vane had said delicious in a white and lace confection, her large train floating down the aisle of Notre Dame. She looked delicate and untouchable.

Phoebus, was beaming, as Fleur floated down the aisle.

How many times had Esmerelda dreamt of that moment?

Where Phoebus' face was lit up with pride as she entered the Cathedral.

How long had she clung to that dream, of being his wife, his world, his everything?

But that wasn't to be, the unshakable reality was unfolding.

Esmerelda felt used, she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the walls of Notre Dame cathedral.

The torment was over, the bride and groom had left happily in a cloud of confetti making their way to their carriage. However, there was still the thanking of the guests, and when Claude and Esmerelda arrived to congratulate the newlyweds. Phoebus' had turned pale, and Fleur's face contorted into a bitter mask of astonishment and hate;

"Ah Monsieur and Madame Frollo." Fleur smiled tightly; "We heard you had fled Paris, you had to keep the young lady to yourself, Monsieur Frollo. Society could not have shown her better manners to please you."

"If you will Madame, my lady wife is as well mannered as the best of them, and less rude. Now if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to. Blessings upon, your union Capitaine. Come, my dear."

Throwing a protective arm over Esmerelda, and grim face for the outraged couple. Claude stalked over to the carriage, half hauling Esmerelda with him.

Esmerelda's last longing glance was over her shoulder at her beloved Phoebus.

The wedding dinner for the bride and groom, went without a hitch.

The couples lined up in honour of the couple, and then diverted into the La Volta.

Without even glancing at Phoebus, Esmerelda was lifted into the air by a stony Claude. He did not seem to enjoy this dance in front of everyone. Her hands found his shoulders as they stepped around the room, the Parisians gawking at them, but Claude took no notice of them and held her tightly as they spun round. She was lifted in one last hold and her hands came up to cup his face;

"Claude, shall we give them something to talk about." She whispered.

Frollo just smiled grimly and pecked her cautiously on the lips. The room seemed to buzz with collective gasps, but Esmerelda had other ideas in which to taunt Phoebus and his new wife. She reached up and just as she had done in the ballroom kissed him, even though this was not a curious exploration but revenge against those who had wronged them both. Claude played a long with her, his lips melting against hers in a lingering kiss, her hands played with the little hairs on his neck, pulling him to her by his skullcap. However, Claude must have wanted her to stop because he gripped her arms almost bruising her.

They separated, Claude's cheeks burning a bright crimson. He was still shaking but seemed to collect himself. He nodded to the guests, who were whispering in shock;

 _"_ _Did you ever see such a display? And at a wedding."_

 _"_ _Well she is a gypsy, the Archdeacon seemed so surprised."_

 _"_ _What do you expect, the poor man was nearly eaten alive. Such depravity."_

Esmerelda followed her "Husband" out of the room and into the afternoon sun.


	11. Chapter 11: Hurt and Bruised

_Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love._

1st letter of St. John (4-11).

The carriage ride home was mired with silence.

Esmerelda did not look at Claude.

Who was busy fidgeting with the belt on his doublet.

Suddenly Esmerelda broke the silence;

"Can we just talk about what has happened? Please Claude. I don't know what I have done wrong."

Claude did not seem to know how to answer, his Adam's apple bobbed nervously. His blue eyes glanced at Esmerelda's pleading face;

"I don't want your pity. Or your supposed experiments on my person. I'm not to be toyed with, you gypsy witch." He spat out with vehemence.

Esmerelda reeled back, Claude's eyes seemed full of hate for what she was. She had thought they were making progress, to reach some sort of truce. Esmerelda thought that she could rely on Claude even in some semblance as a friend. He had given her no cause to fear him, bar that incident when they reached tourments de l'enfer. But she sensed that Claude had been stewing over what had happened between them, and Esmerelda had no idea of how to repair the damage that had been inadvertently inflicted.

"Claude …" she found to her horror, that her voice cracked in distress.

He flinched and clenched his hands in his lap.

Finally, after a seeming eternity they reached the Frollo town house, without waiting for Esmerelda. Claude vaulted out, and marched hurriedly to the house, without looking back.

Esmerelda was bored.

It had been a few hours after that scathing interaction with Claude in the carriage. And Esmerelda hadn't been able to stop repeating his angry words in her head.

Why did it matter?

Why was it suddenly important that Claude's opinion mattered?

Esmerelda looked out of the window, her little fingers traced patterns on the cool glass.

Her heart stopped.

There was someone in the street.

Shaking with apprehension, Esmerelda peered anxiously outside.

A flash of golden hair. Her breath caught.

Surely not Phoebus.

But it was he. The handsome Capitaine's face lit up when her eyes finally spotted him. He gesticulated wildly to her, to follow him in the street.

Smiling that he had finally come for her, Esmerelda's feet pattered down the stairs and into the waiting arms of the handsome Captain.

Claude knew that he had been too harsh.

His words had cut through Esmerelda's burgeoning trust like one of the scars on his arms.

He was praying fervently, his hands gripping onto the floor boards in penance.

Claude had no experience with young women, especially none so pretty and vivacious as Esmerelda. Her lips had branded him, like the most stringent form of punishment. He wanted her, no … needed her. And he couldn't control himself around her.

His rosary broke under the onslaught of his grip, the beads scattering on the floor. His ears pricked up, when he heard the door slam. And he knew she had left him.

Left him to his fate.

She wasn't coming back.

Phoebus's arms wrapped round her in a passionate embrace.

"My love, I've been waiting for you. You're not married to that fiend, are you? Please, assuage me of your safety."

"Oh no Phoebus, it's only you that I love."

Phoebus' eyes glittered in the dark;

"Come, I have a room booked for us. We shall be quite undisturbed."

"But what of your wife." Esmerelda looked innocently up at him.

But the Capitaine just waved away her concerns and held onto her arm tightly. He led her through the streets of Paris, their shoes squelched with mud and other substances which Esmerelda tried to block out in her mind.

They arrived at a run-down house, in the middle of a deserted block. As soon as they entered an old crone led them into a dusty bedroom, Phoebus without even a glance at her threw a handful of coins at her.

And then they were alone.

Phoebus' without waiting for Esmerelda's permission had his lips on hers, they were slightly damp as he had licked them. She couldn't help comparing them to Claude's which were immeasurably soft and silky. Phoebus noticing her distraction held her tightly, forcing his mouth against hers, not caring that she was not responding with the same amount of passion. She could smell his sweat, clinging like a horrible odour around him. Trying her best to respond to Phoebus' ardour, but failing miserably, her hands were clutching at his shoulders. She could feel his hands, grabbing at her breasts, squeezing them roughly, and then reaching lower;

"Phoebus, I don't think …"

"Come on, you whore. You opened your legs for that pervert of a priest."

Surprise caught her, he had never used words like that before. Esmerelda watched in astonishment as Phoebus opened his breeches, and then hurriedly pulling her dress up;

"Did you like it when you lay with him, did he make you moan Esmerelda, or sob for more."

"No, Phoebus. Stop it. Why are you doing this?" Esmerelda cried.

"Bitch." He slapped her, as she scrabbled to try and get away, "Your mine. My property."

Esmerelda sobbed, wishing that she had stayed with Claude. He had never treated her so roughly. This only seemed to inflame Phoebus, and his hands pinched her, trailing colourful bruises on her bronzed skin;

"Claude…" Esmerelda sobbed.

"How dare you say his name." Phoebus screamed.

The man seemed to lose control of himself, and the slaps and punches came quickly. His grabbing hands ripped the dress that Claude had bought her, Phoebus' slick kisses trailed her shoulder. Wincing in disgust Esmerelda, lay there thinking that if this was over quickly she could return to Claude.

Mrs Benoit was worried, Esmerelda seemed to have been gone for a while.

Master Claude had locked himself in his chapel and had not been seen since.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door of the town house.

Mrs Benoit opened the door slowly, there was Esmerelda her tears staining her cheeks, her dress had been ripped beyond repair and there was something white splattering her dress;

"Oh, dear God. Miss Esmerelda, sweetheart."

The girl couldn't respond, grabbing the young women's hands, Mrs Benoit dragged her into the servant's quarters. Leading her so she could sit down near the fire, Mrs Benoit prepared a hot brew which she pressed into Esmerelda's hands. She set about swiping the tears from the young girl's face, her eyes looked red in despair;

"Can I get Master Claude for you?"

The girl's sobs got louder, at the mention of Claude.

"He… He… would be disgusted by me."

"Oh no, child. This is none of your fault."

"But he … I can't … I can't face him."

"I must let him know what has happened to you, my dear. He will be sick with worry by now. I've been hearing him pacing in his chapel most of the night."

Esmerelda nodded reluctantly;

"Can I have a change of clothes before he see's me."

Mrs Benoit gave a shaky smile.

Esmerelda hurt all over, and the churning in her gut made her feel sick.

Claude was going to be so angry.

Mrs Benoit helped her into a nightshirt, unfortunately it did not leave anything to the imagination. There was ugly bruising on her arms, and neck, her lips were swollen, she did not want to see a mirror. She felt so ugly. Claude would never think of her as beautiful again.

Esmerelda saw Mrs Benoit re-enter cautiously, with Claude following at her heels. His blue eyes examined her in a mixture of heartbreak and despair. The older man stepped forward hesitantly, wondering if his presence was unwelcome. Esmerelda seemed to shrink at the sight of him, remembering his harsh words in the carriage _'Gypsy Witch'._

She was on the floor beside the fire, watching him nervously. He wore a dark blue dressing gown, tied with a sash. His blonde brown hair was mussed with stress and tiredness, she did not notice before, but it was flecked with grey. She thought traitorously that it made him look more distinguished. He knelt down so that he was level with her, his blue eyes full of sympathy and guilt;

"C…Claude?" Esmerelda sobbed; "I'm not beautiful, am I?"

She could see him swallow, and look anywhere but at her;

"You will always be beautiful to me." He whispered.

"Don't lie to me, Claude." Esmerelda hissed.

"Everything that has been done to you, can heal. It's the psychological trauma I am worried about."

"Could you hold me?" she asked quietly.

He nodded jerkily, slowly she approached him as she did before in his library, before shock set in, and she was left with heaving sobs. She propelled herself into his chest, sobbing into the material of his dressing gown, her drink lay forgotten on floor. Holding her against his chest, he rocked her back and forward, his fingers trailed onto her face, carefully touching the contours of her cheek.

Claude smelt good, incense and lavender was calming her incessant panic. She could feel his arms tightening around her frame, trying to instil some comfort and warmth within her, she was so cold and frightened;

"Hush my child, I'll make it alright."

The promise of hope from the man whose sole goal was to make her his, but who was doing his best to comfort her, was finally the last straw for Esmerelda as she slumped in Claude's arms in exhaustion.


	12. Chapter 12: Recovery

_Dear friends, since God loved us, we also ought to love one another._

 _St. John first letter (4-11)._

Claude's gut coiled heavily with guilt. It was all his fault, if he had not been so angry she would not have left him for Phoebus, which is what he had deduced from what Mrs Benoit had told him of the state she was in when she returned from her excursion. Another selfish part of him, resented that she had accepted Phoebus' advances so easily, even when, he, Claude had sacrificed everything to keep her from certain death. Suddenly a sharp tap shook him from his reverie;

"I think, Miss Esmerelda will want a bath. Should I draw one for her?"

"Yes, I think that would be the best course of action."

Esmerelda clutched at Claude, clinging onto him like a life raft; "I only want Claude to see with me."

"My dear, it would not be appropriate for Master Claude to supervise your bath. Unless that is what you want." Esmerelda nodded vigorously.

Sharing Mrs Benoit's look of worry, Claude managed to get to his feet, holding Esmerelda in his arms.

Mrs Benoit drew up a hot bath, with Claude in a near chair. Esmerelda was settled in his lap. Her hands nervously playing with the tassels of his dressing gown. Soon it was done, and the steam of the bath clouded them in a smoky haze.

Why on earth did she want Claude to bathe her.

One horrid encounter with a man was quite enough.

However, she wasn't comfortable with showing her body to Mrs Benoit and to see her tutting over the bruises on her body. She knew that Claude would be stunned with her body and not necessarily over how bruised and battered she was. Very gently Claude helped her up from the chair, using his arm to steady her aching limbs to the bath tub.

Claude had sent Mrs Benoit to bed, with his thanks. But then paused when he saw Esmerelda undressing in front of him.

Esmerelda held the bottom of her borrowed shift and pulled upwards, exposing herself to Claude's view. She could hear him swallow nervously, and his blue eyes had darkened so only the blackness of his pupils could be seen was blown wide with lust.

Esmerelda hissed as she managed to sit down in the bathtub, rubbing the water over her body. Wondering at Claude's reaction, as he pulled up a nearby stool, she playfully splashed the warm water in his face. This brought out a surprised laugh, from the usually stoic man. Her heart seemed to contract helplessly, as he looked much younger than his 36 years, and less stern than he had been. In different circumstances, Esmerelda believed that she could let herself fall in love with Dom Claude Frollo.

The warm water helped her scrub the feeling of dirtiness from her body, there were ugly bruises forming around her breasts and chest, which were dulling to an ugly purple;

She couldn't help but test his self - control as she said; "Could you help me wash my back?"

She held out a sponge to the older man, turning so he could face her back, Claude gently wiped the skin up to her shoulders, wishing he could kiss the gentle bump of her shoulder blade. When he was done, Esmerelda held her hands out, finding a towel which was carefully laid out by Mrs Benoit he enveloped her in it.

Claude gave her some modicum of privacy, when he left the room, so she could dress in the shift that the housekeeper had provided.

Esmerelda did not want to be alone at all. The feel of Phoebus' pinching hands, and slick mouth over her, made her shudder.

Claude was waiting for her in a chair, reading a book. He looked up when she came in;

"All done."

She nodded and moved towards him. Before he could react, she nestled in his lap again, her face against his neck. Putting his book down, Claude smiled in her hair;

"Tell me about your Father, Dom Claude."

Esmerelda could see that her question was unwelcome intrusion as his muscles tensed to an unbearable pitch. After a few beats of silence, a sigh echoed throughout the room;

"My father was not a good man." Claude started his voice jarring and disconnected, every word was wrenched from his lips; "He forced on me the requirement of self-discipline, something which you have witnessed. He never wanted me to join the church, he said it was a waste of time and that I was needed at home to look after the Frollo estate. Jehan, my younger brother was his favourite but also profligate with money, and therefore untrustworthy. When he died, and my mother also, I went to a theological seminary and looked after Jehan the best I could, although he was a young man I still provided for his education." Claude paused seemingly out of breath, "I could not handle your kiss, even though you meant it, I'm sure, as an exploration. It was the first, gentle touch I had been given from a women. I do not remember my own mother kissing me, actually, she took great delight in denying me any sort of affection, being of a view that it made a man look weak. I kept my mother's things, I could not bear to get rid of them, although she took my father's side on many occasions."

"No child should lack affection as you did, that was cruel." Esmerelda said.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now, I suggest that now you have uncovered my past with my parents, you will oblige me in telling me what you were doing tonight."

Claude's voice was hard and unforgiving, almost prickly that she had forced the horrifying abusive and neglectful way his parents treated him in favour of Jehan, he was unloved as she had been shown love by the gypsies, and a wave of pity shook her resolve. Esmerelda moved to try and kiss his cheek, but she was suddenly pushed off his lap;

"I cannot allow any form of affection, until you tell me exactly what happened."

"Why should I? I don't owe you anything? You are not my Master, Dom Claude Frollo."

Hurt, filled her every sentence, although she realised the hypocrisy of her words.

He stood up, his height towering over her small frame;

"You will tell me."

His softly spoken words shook her more than him shouting and the horrible truth was ripped from her like pulling at an old scab;

"Fine." Esmerelda bit out in spite, "I saw Phoebus near my bedroom window, I thought he just wanted to talk to me, it's not very private at a wedding. We got there, and he forced himself on me. He used me, and after he fell asleep I made my escape and luckily found my way back."

Claude turned his back, trembling. Esmerelda felt a wave of pity against her will, and tried to touch him;

"Enough, Esmerelda. It has been a long night, you must go to sleep my child."

And with his hands clenched on a nearby wall, in distress. Esmerelda cautiously left the room her eyes never leaving Dom Claude's tensed back.


	13. Chapter 13: Truce

_A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity._

Proverbs, (17:17).

Claude decided that he was going to teach Esmerelda to read, last night had been both physically and emotionally distressing, they needed some time together.

Getting up from his bed, Claude's heart panged at the loss of Esmerelda in his bed. After that fateful day of the wedding, the rooms had been aired and dusted, and Claude had moved into the room directly opposite. It did not stop him, for wanting prolonged contact. Rubbing his hands over his face, Claude's manservant quickly put a linen shirt on the bed and a pair of breeches. Hurriedly dressing, he arranged with Mrs Benoit that he and Esmerelda would be in the library for most of the day, and with a knowing smile, his housekeeper promised that he would have some refreshments. Knocking on Esmerelda's door, it creaked open revealing Esmerelda in a dress that Mrs Benoit had picked out when she had gone shopping, her hair framing her face which was still discoloured from the previous night;

"Can I help you Dom Claude?"

Again, with that blasted honorific.

"I would like you to come with me." Claude ventured politely, thinking that would be the best way of approaching Esmerelda rather than demanding.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Humour me, Esmerelda. We have hardly spent any time knowing each other."

"That's how I'd like it to stay, I do not need to know you. I am your prisoner, here, hardly your equal. Or did you suddenly forget that I am a gypsy overnight."

"You really feel like a prisoner with me? I thought we were becoming friends"

"I do not require your friendship, I pity you. That is all. Do not mistake that for friendship."

Claude was rendered speechless, but suddenly jealously and spite fuelled his words

"I did not stop you leaving, when you left to see Phoebus." He whispered.

Esmerelda flushed, and finally capitulated; "Alright. Show me."

Claude beamed, with boyish happiness, she may not trust him or like him. But he was sure that she would like this surprise;

"Close your eyes."

She could not make Claude Frollo out, what was he up to?.

He was right, she did not trust him, she would rather trust a rattle snake rather than the man she was obliged to stay with. But he had shown her a part of himself, which disillusioned her view of Frollo, he was no longer the imposing and dominating Archdeacon of Notre Dame, but a man that had been abused, neglected by his parents and made to be a surrogate father to a profligate brother. That's what made her argue with him, she hated to be wrong about someone so completely as Claude Frollo. She must stop thinking of him as just Claude, and decided to use the honorific, Dom to distinguish the Claude that she was getting to like, with the Claude of her experience, the unbending and imposing monster she had imagined him t be. Only in her mind would he be Claude.

Closing her eyes, at his command. She felt a warm hand on her skin. Not grabbing, but gently guiding, she was still shaking from her experience of the previous night, and his fingers curled protectively around hers, trying to offer some comfort. She resisted the urge to pull away. She did not need his pity. He led her into a room, her breathing got shallower with panic, what was he doing taking her into a room with her eyes shut?;

"You can open your eyes …. Now."

Esmerelda blinked repeatedly before her eyes adjusted to the light that was bleeding in through the curtains. There were rows upon rows of books, she had never been in this library nor the one in Claude's country house, she had found the book on a table and Mrs Benoit had told her the title. But this was too much, Claude beamed at her amazement;

"Do you like it?"

"Y…Y…Yes." Esmerelda stuttered still not taking it in.

"I thought, you'd enjoy being here, while I teach you to read. I have not forgotten my promise."

Gulping, Esmerelda offered a tentative smile.

"So shall we start."

Sitting at a table, Esmerelda sat while still watching Claude wearily. Getting out, a pen and paper. Claude started to write quickly, copying the alphabet onto a piece of paper;

"I will point to the letter and say it, you shall copy what I say. Oui?"

Esmerelda nodded, still trying to pinch herself, that Claude Frollo was actually teaching her to read. Esmerelda was a quick learner, and she blushed with Claude's praises and smiles.

Soon, she forgot who he was and weariness of him and pulled the chair closer, feeling the warmth of his body radiating from him. He was reading a passage from a textbook in which she was expected to repeat, Esmerelda started when she glanced at Claude's arms, she had only seen him in his cassock, or a shirt which had sleeves, even when she was tending to his wounds she was so concerned with his back she did not see his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves, and was gesturing enthusiastically, they were lined with horrible scarlet lines, some deep, some shallow, some looked as if they had healed. She swallowed, nausea gripping her. What did they mean?, she caught Claude's eyes;

"Are you alright, my dear. You look a bit peaky."

"Can I ask you a question Dom Claude?"

She noticed, he clenched his teeth at the sign of the honorific, but did not contradict her;

"Ask away my dear." He said softly, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

She looked away from his face and asked hurriedly, before she lost courage;

"What happened to … erm … your … well … your arms." She stuttered, blushing with how stupid she must have sounded.

Claude's chair scraped back with a crash, she could see from the corner of her eye that he was pacing wildly, his hands running through his hair. There was no sense of camaraderie but a tense silence. What was she to say now? she had obviously upset him. He had pulled his sleeves down, his hands shaking;

"Don't you think you have had enough out of me?"

"I'm sorry, it was thoughtless question. Forgive me."

Esmerelda was horribly close to tears, unsure of what to do or say that would comfort him;

"We will speak no more about this …"

Mrs Benoit came in with a tea tray, and Esmerelda breathed in a sigh of relief. Gripping a cup of tea that had been poured out, she glanced at Claude who carefully placed the chair back but was looking away from her enquiring eyes. When Mrs Benoit had left, Esmerelda jumped at Claude's voice;

"I cannot tell you, until I know you better. I am sorry at my display."

He smiled gently at her, which she returned as a sign of a truce.


	14. Chapter 14: Phoebus' Scorn

_So, watch yourselves. If your brother or sisters sin against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them. Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying, 'I repent' you must forgive them."_

 _St. Luke's Gospel, Chapter 17 (3:4)._

Esmerelda had begun to enjoy Claude's company, in the library she rapidly begun (under Claude's tutelage) to read and write, and the books that Claude had read out in his deep melodic voice, sounded beautiful to her ears. Once, when the sun had sunk into the nightly depths, Claude was reading aloud, and she was entranced by the phrases of the words, suddenly she felt her eyes close and her cheek landing on a warm shoulder.

The next thing she knew, it was day break and she woke up in bed. An emotion of relief as she realised that Claude had left her alone.

Claude was deliriously happy.

The happiest he had been, even when he was consecrated the Archdeacon of Notre Dame.

Esmerelda seemed to want to spend time with him, they talked and talked about philosophy, theology all the subjects that Claude had learnt at the seminary. And he was delighted with the way that she devoured all that he knew and pestered him with questions and queries that spun even his academic mind.

He had begun to view her, not as someone he had to protect, but as an equal. And he felt that she had reciprocated that feeling or at least did not show any ill will towards him. Although with a pang of disappointment, she did not want more.

Claude felt that he must do something to make her happy. He knew that she was longing to go outside his town house. However, he had thought to keep them there for at least a few days before moving back to his country estate. Claude knew of a place in which he had used for peaceful meditation especially to get away from Father Philippe who had followed him around the Cathedral. It was a big field in which she could roam free. His heart swelled with the thought of her beautiful smile, etching onto his scared heart.

As he made his way out of his bedroom, he was accosted by a brilliant smile with warm green eyes looking hopefully at him;

"What are we doing today, Claude?" a smile spread across his face. When the days passed she had reverted back to his given name, without the honorific.

"Well. You will just have to wait and see."

"That's not fair Claude." Esmerelda pouted, running after him before she could lose him within the stone walls.

Not bothering to reply, he let Esmerelda follow him outside where a carriage waited for them. It was a glorious day in Paris, the sun burning brightly in the sky which made the Parisian streets which were teeming with the dwellers of Paris seem almost beautiful. Esmerelda looked at Claude enquiringly, but he ignored her, revelling in the impatience that was emanating from his charge. Soon the carriage stopped, and he motioned for Esmerelda to follow him.

They were on the outskirts of Paris. Before the next village there was a large meadow which had not been harvested by neighbouring farmers or his majesty the King for a new barracks for his private militia. Claude noticed that Esmerelda was gaping at the brilliant yellow buttercups which had burst forward in the early spring, mingling with daisy's ripening in the midday sun. The heavy waft of Lavender scented the air, after the putrid smell of Paris. Claude saw that the cool breeze was running through Esmerelda's beautiful inky locks, caressing her like an old friend;

"It's so beautiful." She whispered reverently to the wind.

"Yes, it is." Claude replied focusing his attention on the beautiful women before him.

Esmerelda ran into the meadow her hand brushing the dampened grass from the previous downpour. Foreseeing that they would be a while, Claude waved the carriage a bit away. He did not join in her joy but watched her, with a small smile on his face.

Of course, this bliss did not last forever.

It had soon occurred that a jealous and spurned Phoebus had gotten a warrant for Claude Frollo's arrest and punishment. Insisting that Esmerelda was not married to Claude, and that she had run from him to tell, the Captain of the Guard the truth that Claude had abducted and abused her in the most horrible way.

The arrest of Dom Claude Frollo, was quite the on dit in French society. The man had barely gotten dressed when he was dragged out of his town house and sequestered in one of the dungeons in Paris.

Esmerelda had not heard the dreaded news until Mrs Benoit shook her awake. However, it was too late to have done anything, when she arrived at the Palais of Justice. The building rearing like an ugly monument to its dark and painful history. Mrs Benoit and she had arrived, Phoebus looking triumphant in golden armour, and Claude … although his face was defiant, his body was wilting with defeat, Esmerelda's heart leapt when he sought her eyes through the crowd, however, she noticed that there was a mix of betrayal and hurt filtered in the blue depths, which made her heart sink. Claude had thought that she had lied to him about what had happened between her and Phoebus.

Later the bell ringer Quasimodo, explained that Phoebus had told him, (when he found that Esmerelda and Claude escaped on that fateful night), that on pain of death was he to leave the safety of the Cathedral. However, Captain Phoebus had anticipated the bell ringer's gratitude and unconditional love for his adopted father. Phoebus had some of the strongest men under his command, and even Quasimodo, with his brute strength couldn't overcome them.

Phoebus read out the charge, with a smug smile on his otherwise handsome face. Making, Esmerelda realise that it was almost demonic.

"Dom Claude Frollo under jurisdiction of the magistrate of Paris, it has been judged that you have kidnapped, and used your power and station to abuse the gypsy La Esmerelda, who has testified to this charge. The penalty for this, is forty lashes, no less."

Claude was motioned to stand next to a pillar, where the garrison guards ripped his shirt which had been dirtied from the prison floor. His arms were placed into the shackles so that he was facing the column. Although Esmerelda had seen Claude's back from the time she was nursing him, she saw that now the wounds had healed into white scars. However, her breathing stopped with the realisation that they would soon be open and the fragile skin torn. Esmerelda was encapsulated in unadulterated panic.

Seeing the futility of the situation, Quasimodo stood with Mrs Benoit and Esmerelda. The younger girl had clenched her fists until blood dripped steadily in sympathy for the cruel display. A yelp sounded, as the first lash struck.

It steadily got worse.

The lashes were made by Cat O'Nine Tails, which were wielded by two brutish guards, the lashes got harder, seeing that the guards had subdued the bloodthirsty crowd. The audience who had gathered quietened to a moderate hum and Esmerelda could hear the sickening sound of flesh ripping which was tearing at the young girl's heart. The trio watched in horror as the guards missed and lashed against Claude's legs, making him buckle in his restraints.

Suddenly, Esmerelda couldn't watch anymore and nestled herself within Quasimodo's waiting embrace, her salty tears covering his tunic as Claude's yells and grunts reached a fever pitch. Finally after what seemed an eternity of anguish, it was over. Frollo slumped onto the pillar, heaving for air. His back was a disgusting scarlet colour, as for the ground surrounding him it was splattered with the horrifying result of violence.

Esmerelda freeing herself from Quasimodo's embrace, ran into the crowd, pushing them out of the way in haste. Trying to reach the poor man, who was battered and bruised because of Phoebus' actions, and his association with her. The guards were too stunned to stop her.

Slowing her pace, she stopped at the pillar. Claude's eyes were dazed with exhaustion and pain, there were no tears gathering in his eyes, the shock had seen to that. A wave of pity hit her, and she ran her hand through his mussed hair. However, he pulled away when her searching fingers touched his lips and cheek.

Sobbing, with helplessness, she fruitlessly tugged at the chains that strapped him to the pillar. Quasimodo, seeing that the guards did not stop Esmerelda from reaching Claude, the bell ringer pushed people out of the way, ripping the shackles off the wall. As Esmerelda tried to catch Claude's arms as he fell, Quasimodo, swung Frollo gently in his arms grabbing the ripped shirt and holding it against the open wound of his back, Frollo's breeches where already caked in blood. Giving a last saddened look at Phoebus, the bell ringer, housekeeper and gypsy hurried to the sanctuary of Notre Dame Cathedral.


	15. Chapter 15: Troubles at Notre Dame

_Get rid of all the bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as Christ God forgave you.'_

 _St. Paul's fourth letter to the Ephesians (31-32)._

They were not allowed to help.

It was made clear as soon as they entered the ancient walls of Notre Dame. Claude had been taken from Quasimodo by the priests that had come hurrying towards them, after the bell ringer's cry of 'sanctuary'. Mrs Benoit and Esmerelda had tried to follow, not letting Claude out of their sight. They were held back by a priest who was securing one of the doors in the hospital wing of the Cathedral, where many of the poor of Parisian society gathered due to Priest's also being trained as doctor's;

"I am sorry, but I am under orders not to allow anyone in."

Quasimodo took Mrs Benoit and Esmerelda into his bell tower and showed them the great bells of Notre Dame. Whom he named as if they were personal acquaintances of his. Looking fondly at Quasimodo, who ran around gripping onto the ropes that held the bells together, he held her hands as he took her to see the awesome sight of Paris from the safety of the bell tower. The people from that morning had disappeared, and Esmerelda was stuck at how beautiful the city was.

Esmerelda, soon left the bell tower as curiosity soon gripped her, she wondered what was happening to Claude. Taking leave of Quasimodo and Mrs Benoit, Esmerelda half ran towards Claude's door. She could hear the cries, grunts and wails a never-ending cacophony of suffering, echoing a horrifying symphony. Closing her eyes, with the sudden nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Her heart reached out beyond where she stood. Disturbing her reverie, two priests came out, the sweat dripped from their faces, their cassocks and faces splattered with blood. The elder of the two, approached the young girl;

"My dear, he is in no fit state to be receiving visitors."

Remorseful tears stung Esmerelda's cheeks "Oh please can I see him?"

Priests are not immune to women's tears as some would believe, and deeply moved by her sincerity the man regarded his companion;

"We have seen to the damage as best we can, it looks as if the blood loss is not fatal. Especially if he rests and replenishes his body, however, if it does not improve we will have to come up with a different solution. A very dicey and unfortunate one. Would you follow Father Ambrose? I must hurry…"

Following the young Father Ambrose, he led her into the room. Claude's listless body rested on a bed, he was not aware of anything not even her nervous breathing. Esmerelda sat on the bed examining Claude with timid eyes. Father Ambrose had tactfully taken his leave.

Claude had passed out from the priest's ministrations, he was breathing heavily. Esmerelda had finally admitted to herself that what she felt was Claude was not animosity nor was it someone in complete love with another person. But she refused to think of Claude, her Claude. As the cold, distant Archdeacon. A person who would kill to claim her.

But the Claude who showed her the scars on his arm, who was not afraid to have an argument with her even when her knowledge was bordering on ignorance. She had fallen into a sort of love with the Claude in her mind, the Claude who stood at the pillar not resisting but still defiant against Phoebus. Her head fell against his chest. Maybe it was better if she left …

Left Paris … and Frollo.

Trying not to decide too hastily in her decision, she held the far too cold hand in her palm, examining the callouses and indulging herself in kissing the tips of his fingers. Wishing that he could respond in kind. Although after the events of that day, he would not want to see her again. And she kissed harder against his fingertips.

The days passed, in the sanctuary of Notre Dame Cathedral. Claude had regained consciousness in the past weeks, Esmerelda had not been to see him. Although encouraged by both Quasimodo and Mrs Benoit, that she would be welcome. Esmerelda began to feel lonely, especially for the way things were before.

Choking in the relative silence of the Cathedral's walls, she examined the objects of Claude's religion the crucifix's hanging opulently from the walls. The meek gifts of bread and wine, which were held reverently, tenderly in a cohort of priests. This was what Claude had left for her.

A statue of the Madonna, the patron Saint of Notre Dame stood in place of honour within the Cathedral. Looking at her benevolent face, Esmerelda wondered what she should do. What use was she here? Among strangers and celibate priests. But a traitorous thoughts caught her off guard, she was safe here. Nothing could touch her. Especially not Phoebus or the authorities. Maybe she was afraid of seeing Claude because her feelings towards him were boarding on becoming love. And seeing it within herself was frightening, the jump of her heart when he smiled, or laughed. The childish way, he picked her up while dancing. All reminders in her heart of the Claude she had grown to love, and even adore. Suddenly her reverie was interrupted by Quasimodo;

"Esmerelda, the priests say that master will be able to join us for a meal tonight. Will you come?"

The innocent Quasimodo beamed at her with expectant exultation. Not wishing to disappoint him, with the maudlin turn of her thoughts, she nodded and took his hands.

The meal came to soon, for Esmerelda's liking. Claude had been brought before them by two priests, both half carrying Frollo to the table which was laid out. Mrs Benoit, Esmerelda, Quasimodo and priests were gathered around apart from the Theology students.

Esmerelda looked discreetly at Claude, her eyes devouring the sight of him, she was trying to memorise every curve and delicate shape of his face, although he still very pale. Claude seemed to have regained his strength bit by bit. He was dressed in his old cassock, that one of the priests had dug out for him from his wardrobe which had not thrown out. Esmerelda thought he looked more comfortable in them, than when he was trampling about his country estate behaving like the perfect landowner. His hair had been washed and cut, he was looking as Claude Frollo like as possible. The one she despised.

Soon the meal had finished, and Esmerelda followed Quasimodo back to her quarters. As she passed she caught Frollo's eyes as she walked by, his cold gaze did not warm.

The tension between Esmerelda and Claude, became noticeable.

Quasimodo, and Mrs Benoit had concocted a plan. The next day, Esmerelda was moping around the bell tower, touching the bells, they had become the kind listeners to the many complaints about Claude Frollo. When Claude, entered the bell tower who was looking for Quasimodo, instead with a startled expression he saw Esmerelda looking with equal surprise at him;

"I did not expect to see you here, I was looking for Quasimodo."

Swallowing Esmerelda looked at Claude; "I don't know where he is, I was looking for Mrs Benoit. Would you … Maybe you would like to …."

"I would. Thank you." Claude finished, sitting in one of the chairs.

Silence ensued, Esmerelda looked at Claude. She did not want to start this needed conversation, but that it was a necessity to salvage the remains of their truce;

"Why did you do it?" Claude interjected;

Esmerelda stared at him uncomprehendingly;

"Lie to me about Phoebus. You clearly went for him for help, and then used me so that I would fall victim to the laws of this land."

It dawned upon the young girl;

"You think I would really betray you."

"Why wouldn't you." Claude bit back.

"For what it's worth, I did not tell Phoebus anything. The man raped me. And to make sure that it is clear …"

Half angry and relieved, Esmerelda's vision swam as she suddenly stood up. Ignoring Claude's half-hearted attempts to stop her and pressed her inexperienced lips furiously onto his. Enraptured by the softness of his lips and trying to ignore the rapid tattoo of her heart in her ears, and the tremulous shake of her hands. She clung onto Claude's neck, moaning with the overwhelming heat of his body, she could not seem to stop herself. Claude's hands tightened on his lap but made no move to kiss her back. Breathing heavily, Esmerelda released him, the silence intensified;

"I should go." Claude broke the painful silence between them, his face showing no emotion within the insurmountable depths of his face. And Esmerelda was at a loss on what to do.

"I … I" She tried to stop him.

"It's better if we forget this happened, you are only young, and I cannot expect you to understand …"

"Brother." Suddenly a young man who looked like a younger version of Claude entered the room pulling Claude into a bear hug; "It's so good to see you, they told me what happened. By any chance do you have any spare sous' the landlord wants paying … Ah we have company Claude, who is this delicious morsel."

Claude's expression did not falter;

"This is La Esmerelda." Without any further elaboration.

"Oh, the gypsy dancer, I see you scurried her off before we could be properly introduced. Did not realise she was your type, you could have told your own brother. I could have introduced you to some of my acquaintances. I'm Jehan Frollo."

Despite herself, Esmerelda found that she liked the plucky carefree brother, that Claude had hidden away from the world. He was around her age, although he showed signs that he resembled Claude, however, he was much more handsome and had deep laughter lines. He seemed to be somebody who knew about having a good time. Whereas, Claude still looked like the parsonic and morose Archdeacon she once knew.

"I have none to spare, Jehan. Now I must really go."

Notre Dame was made more bearable, Esmerelda thought.

Jehan Frollo decided that it was his main goal to make Esmerelda laugh, he would tell her of his childhood, the things he used to get up to. And of a specific incident where he and Claude, decided to drink an entire bottle of the best wine at an inn and were decidedly drunk. Which ended in Claude attempting to convert everyone to the true faith. Esmerelda laughed for the first time in ages, not noticing Claude's scowl at his younger brother.

During Jehan's continuing place by her side, Esmerelda had a niggling feeling that the Frollo brothers were competing. Claude was trying to ignore the budding camaraderie between Jehan and Esmerelda. Whereas an amused Jehan was trying his very best to make his long suffering brother ... a little jealous.


	16. Chapter 16: It's Complicated

_Wrath is fierce, and anger is a flood but who can stand before jealousy."_

 _Proverbs (27:4)._

Claude admitted it. He was jealous. Insanely, helplessly and utterly jealous of his brother.

Jehan was better looking, he had an irritating infectious laugh and smile that was irresistible to absolutely anybody.

Esmerelda had moved on. And the anxiety over that fact was swallowing him in a pit of despair.

It was his own fault, he knew that.

He had pushed her away, unwilling to let her get too close to him to see what little he could give her. Stopping at the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, his face sought the lovely face inwardly cursing himself for his inadequacy. He had no idea on how to deal with women, especially one he treated so abominably as Esmerelda, he did not know how to make love to a women, he had been a priest such things did not come up in a conversation. Wallowing in his self-pity, time passed by;

"We have never seen eye to eye have we, brother." Closing his eyes, Claude imagined the laughing, smug face of Jehan, "She's wasted on you, I could show her a good time. Is she too much for your parsonic sensibilities?"

The voice so much like Jehan, everything that he wanted his brother seemed to gain, shuddering with pent up panic. His boots clattered down to his room, shutting the door. His fears, and visions of Esmerelda with another man either Jehan or Phoebus, clouded his mind with impenetrable certainty. Before he could yell an admonishment, the door was flung open by a worried Esmerelda. Taking a few steps towards the shaking man. Claude put up a restraining hand;

"Not now, Esmerelda. Please … leave. I … can't …"

His words were less controlled, and the panic laced through his voice. His breathing was shallow, chest constraining. His vision was blurring as eyes filled with frustrated tears, his mind was awash with voices spiralling out of control. His hands shook against the desk, his body convulsing with pain from his wounds and emotional distress;

"Claude …"

Esmerelda's growing concern over Claude's behaviour was gradually reaching breaking point. He was more withdrawn, barely speaking at all to her. His face was contorted into a frown permanently, especially towards Jehan. Jehan was a blessed relief. His easy-going nature made it easy to like him, his company combined with Mrs Benoit and Quasimodo made her feel content in the confines of sanctuary.

But Esmerelda, felt that there was something missing.

Claude.

She missed him every-day, she had not realised how much until now. Esmerelda knew that not talking about what had happened between them would be disastrous, even if her advances had been rejected. She chuckled with little humour, it seemed to her that she was trying to talk sense into the one person she had loathed just a few months ago.

Without knocking, Esmerelda flung the door open anticipating Claude's refusal of her even entering.

The sight made her pause in sheer shock.

Claude was hyperventilating. The pain was laced through his voice, beads of sweat perspiring from his face, like drops of water caressing the grooves of his forehead. Ignoring his words, she ran towards him enveloping him in her arms. Finding purchase on his shoulders, she snuggled into his lap, her legs wrapped round his hips. Like she had wanted for so long. His tears soaked into her hair, as she held on tightly onto his cassock.

His breathing abated to a normal rate.

A sob rose from his throat as he pulled her fully onto the bed. Her ebony hair caressing the cushions in a dark mass. Without waiting for permission he held onto her dress, his dexterous fingers finding the clasps pulling it free from her body. Although acquiescing without words, she covered herself from his burning eyes, however, he gently pulled her arms away. She looked for reassurance and admiration in his face;

"Beautiful … Esmerelda, so beautiful." His rough voice calming her.

She held his face in her hands, the hot weight of his body was covering hers muddling her senses into an overwhelming symphony of sensation. Barely able to breath, but filled with the overwhelming scent of him, the musky smell of incense ingrained within his cassock and the musky smell of the man in front of her. Realising that the nervousness was gradually evaporating with the older man's shortened pants, and frequent hesitations, she knew that she would have to take this situation into her own hands. Although she was naked, the need to him in a similar state was driving her forward and pulled at the infuriating cassock buttons revealing alabaster skin. She felt a satisfying thrill as she thought that she was the only one to see him so apart from his God.

The dusky pink nipples were erect in attention, straining within the confines of the cold room. Her eyes devoured his trim body, the gauntness of his waist with the protruding rib cage which a showed shocking clarity how much food had little precedence within his life. His arms were covered with the ugly scars in which she had questioned him over, tracing the lines of the multitude even forgetting her own shyness. Dragging him closer, with the soles of her feet digging into his back they were soon chest to chest. She could feel the warmth of his aroused body burning her up like some horrific fever. Esmerelda could feel Claude's arousal insistently pushing against her skin, the velvety head leaking a copious amount of fluid, his grunts and whimpers filling her with amazement that she could reduce the former Archdeacon of Notre Dame into a fiery ball of lust.

"Ah … Esmerelda … Ah … more. Temptress, seducer, the Eve of my dreams…" His hoarse words filled her with unexplained dread, rather than overwhelming excitement.

Feeling the obligation of pleasing him, Esmerelda slid her hand down through his downy chest hair reaching to his stomach finally reaching to cup his raging erection. Having no experience, she fumbled when he let out a strangled yowl and pushed her hand against him as a clear indication of his frustration. Choking panic her inexperience screaming into her hazy mind. She imagined that Claude's look of pure bliss, was actually filled with scorn, still quietly panicky, she tried to enjoy the sensation of him pulsing in her hand. His head falling back and chest heaving as he spilled over her hand with a shout of unadulterated pleasure. After Claude collapsed on her, shaking with pent up exhaustion and satisfaction. She heard the tell- tale snores vibrating throughout her body.

Claude woke in a state of intense euphoria the previous hour in which he had held Esmerelda within his arms were one of the most beautiful moments in his entire life. Ruminating with pleased thoughts, he had forgotten Esmerelda's supposed betrayal and buttoned up his forlorn cassock. However, he noticed that the young girl was not in his arms, she had left. Smiling a little to himself he opened his door where young Father Phillippe nearly collided with him;

"Your excellency, you must come quickly. Something dreadful has happened. There is no time to explain …"

Claude held up a hand to calm the young priest;

"Your excellency, Captain Phoebus has defied the laws of sanctuary. The young gypsy has gone with him willingly. I'm sorry, your excellency. I could not stop them …"


	17. Chapter 17: An Unwilling Damsel

_'Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.'_

 _Isiah 41:10._

Esmerelda was resigned to her fate. If Claude came for her, she would be an unwilling damsel. She held her tears in check, her fingers digging painfully into her palm drawing out blood as she felt the horrid warm breath of Phoebus on her neck.

He would be best off without her. Claude did not deserve a sullied, young, hysterical girl. Who had only given him pain and no relief, she could not handle that he only saw her as a possession, something that he had long desired. No doubt, he was glad to be rid of her, a stupid, inexperienced whore. Ironically, she was now on horseback where she was filled with dread in both times, the first when Claude took her to his country home and currently Phoebus responding to her plea and taking her away on horseback from Notre Dame. The triumph of overcoming Claude radiating from him like a disgusting odour which distorted his words. She realised that Claude had been obsessed with commentating on her looks and name as if they somehow the very essence of her, she had meant nothing. Finally coming to her senses, she looked around Phoebus was taking her far away from Paris and into the vast country, the Court of Miracles and Clopin could not help her now.

No-one could.

The ride was tedious in the extreme and when they finally reached their destination, she realised that he had taken her to a small cottage in the middle of nowhere;

"This was my family's, you can remain here. Do not worry your pretty head Esmerelda, I will take care of you."

His words filled her with growing nausea, finally he helped her down the numbness of her sore muscles aching from the exertion. He led her into the cottage, it was quaint and homely. The lavender aroma making feel calmer, although the wolfish look Phoebus gave her filled her with dread.

Claude was beside himself with worry.

After thanking Father Phillipe, he gathered Quasimodo and Mrs Benoit. Claude had never felt so grateful for taking in the young bell ringer as the young man had overheard the conversation Phoebus and Esmerelda had. And he had known where they had gone to. Claude's first instinct was to race to Phoebus' family home and take her back to where she belonged, but the bell ringer was much stronger than he was and volunteered to rescue her while Claude waited impatiently at Tourments de l'enfer.

Waiting was painful. He felt the anxiety welling inside him almost overpowering every rational thought he had.

Finally, after he felt that hours had passed, Quasimodo brought in a struggling Esmerelda who he was trying to calm;

"Let me go, Quasi."

Claude had stopped pacing and looked at the unwilling damsel.

Sensing the overwhelming emotions coursing through the pair, Quasi gave Esmerelda a reassuring pat and left them alone. Emerald met stormy blue eyes, both unwilling to give in to each other, refusing to surrender. Finally, Mrs Benoit entered to diffuse the situation;

"Ah Miss Esmerelda, there is a pot of tea in the library for both of you. It's good to see you back, Miss."

Claude stormed into the library, his cassock trailing dangerously behind him. Giving Mrs Benoit a worried look, Esmerelda walked steadily trying to ignore the accompanying dread that seemed like a current companion throughout her exchanges with Claude.

Claude was waiting for her beside a window, staring determinedly out into the black night. It did not seem two minutes ago that she had been abducted again by Quasimodo out of the frustrated reaches of Phoebus. Chocking back fear and an evident hopelessness that she was never going to find her happy ending, and what she had with Claude was gradually receding to a distant memory. The silence engulfed them, Esmerelda sat down quietly and dutifully drank the cup of tea that Mrs Benoit had outpoured wishing that it would lessen her racing nerves;

"It seems I made an incalculable mistake." Claude broke the silence, the deep timbre of his voice shaking with emotion, before she could question what he meant by that, he continued in the same vein, but his voice came out tightly controlled in a deadened almost emotionless tone; "It seems that happiness is not for you and I, it is an unreachable and maddening facet that cannot reach us, no matter how we try and capture it. I believe I made, many assumptions on your character. I was bemused and obsessed by your name, your … attributes shall we say. I knew you could never love the monster that I am. You are innocent, untouched and I was attracted to that."

Claude paused again, sipping what seemed like a glass of red wine that he had gotten a glass decanter on the side;

"I allowed Quasimodo to rescue you, because I felt that I needed to let you know that if you intend to go and spend the rest of your existence to that foolish capitaine. I wanted at least to say goodbye, in a familiar surroundings to both of us."

His firm resolve cracked at the end of his sentence, and he hastily took a sip of wine to cover the threat of unprecedented hurt and anger that over clouded his rational thought.

Esmerelda had sat quietly listening to Claude's deadened outpourings and wished that she had succeeded in getting away from Frollo. He was too good for the likes of her;

"Do you still love me, Dom Claude Frollo.?"

Why, that question should be at the front of her mind she had yet to rationalise. Claude dropped into his chair, his face illuminated by the fire place;

"Yes."

Esmerelda noted that he looked utterly defeated, as if the word was spat out from a part of his soul that tried to resist what he felt for her which was more than a burgeoning attraction or obsession. Welling with her own emotions of love and realisation she timidly knelt at his feet;

"I am not a possession. I am a human being, not an ideal or something you can control. I will not be made a man's toy, nor will my feelings be trampled as if they are autumn leaves falling from an oak tree…" She paused reluctant to say what was in her heart;

"I love you. More than anything in the world. I did not realise it at first. Too concerned with beauty, and my own prejudices against you. I felt trapped, that I was just something to possess. I left you because I thought you would be better if I went. Phoebus offered to take me some place where I could live quietly, although I suppose in my naiveté, he wanted more than that. I'm sorry, that I have taken so long to come to this realisation with all the pain that I have caused, and the heartache…"

Esmerelda didn't finish.

Unlike their previous kisses, this one she remembered the most in her heart. His soft lips, inexperienced onto hers the warm seal of his mouth shaking her into consciousness. The feel of him, warm and hot above her the comforting aroma filling her nostrils calming her beating her heart which was raised inescapably fast, until she could grip onto his cassock front. However, unlike the last time in which they were both virgins and one was in a dizzying recollection of the past. This time she was in love, with him. The overwhelming nearness of him filling her senses, so much that she gripped onto his hair pulling him so that he was drawn closer to the fire and onto his knees. Pulling him down so he was lying on top of her, the kiss turned into several neither willing to let the other go. They were intertwined, as one and her beat faster in anticipation. Knowing that there was real love in his actions and not just thrumming desire, she clung even tighter her hands catching on the starchy material of his cassock grabbing the buttons. However, he stopped her. His eyes burning an intense sapphire gaze;

"Let me see you … worship you."

Blushing a charming red, her dress was shed to his devouring gaze. Timidity evaporated with his hungry look, she watched as his eyes took in her bronzed skin so unlike his. He reached down to suck at a nipple, wondering whether she would derive any pleasure. Feeling the wet searing heat of his mouth holding onto her, she sobbed out an exclamation her hands tangling in his hair nearly pulling the strands and he littered kisses down her belly bringing forth a gurgle of laughter. Getting tired of his exploration and impatient to see his trim body, that she had seen but in too much of a panic to appreciate. Undoing the cassock buttons, she admired every inch of his chest, down to his lean belly. Even touching the scars on his arms;

"You never told me about these." She traced them, with more care kissing the one's that had been carved in deep.

"They are the past. You are my future." He stated simply.

Looking into his eyes, she saw that he was restraining himself but also fear that she would push him away even after all the words that had been spoken between them. Trying to distract her from maudlin thoughts, Claude fingertips trailed down to her core, wetness coating his fingers rubbing where he thought might bring her some pleasure. He was not prepared for her to wrap her arms round his neck and moan deeply into his ear. Mumbling his name in a reverent prayer, he could have jumped for joy when she touched him back her hands touching the deep scars on his back. Her features showing no sign that she was disgusted but rather joyful that he was allowing her the privilege.

When he finally entered her. Esmerelda felt a feeling of completion.

She had always needed this, and she did not regret for one second what she was doing. Although still tender, Esmerelda found a rhythm with Claude shaking with pent up tension his face breathing the scent of her neck. Holding him tightly, Claude moaned thrusting deeply until he brought Esmerelda over the edge with a scream of his name imprinted on her lips. It only took a few shaking, climatic moments and he followed after her, moaning platitudes of love which were fulfilled tenfold in those tender moments.

They were together at last.

Forever.

 _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

 _Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_

 _Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

 _And summer's lease hath all too short a date;_

 _Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,_

 _And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;_

 _And every fair from fair sometime declines,_

 _By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;_

 _But thy eternal summer shall not fade,_

 _Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;_

 _Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,_

 _When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:_

 _So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,_

 _So long lives this, and this gives life to thee._

 _\- William Shakespeare._


End file.
